


Moments

by orphan_account



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: ( davey's just mentioned ), F/M, Post-Canon, World War I, jatherine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A series of short, one-shot drabbles for Jack/Katherine, verses varying!
( please comment if there is a particular story you enjoyed or if there's something you'd like to see me write next! )





	1. A Spat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine's jealous because SOMEBODY is a little too much of a flirt. ( Post-Canon )

“I was just _working_ , I don’t know what you’re so **mad**  about.” 

Jack’s standing in front of his girlfriend on the curb, in the middle of his work day, staring incredulously as she glared unwaveringly at him. Had he flirted with a pretty young girl to sell his last paper? Maybe, but it was part of his technique, and it _**worked**_. He was just unlucky in the sense that Katherine had been coming to see him on break from work and witnessed it.

“You have used that exact same line on _me_ , Jack Kelly,” she snapped, arms folded tightly across her chest as she scowls. 

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean it when I was sayin’ it to _her_ ,” Jack argues, somewhat helplessly, still trying to figure out just _what_  the issue was. She was jealous, he could gather that much ( and quite frankly if she weren’t so angry he’d be outwardly smug about it ). 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” 

“… _yes_?” 

His uncertain reply draws out a deeply exasperated sigh from his unhappy girlfriend, and Jack finds himself at a total loss.

“Well what was I _supposed_  to do?” he starts again, this time with a defensive edge to his voice, “I’m not exactly workin’ with a great headline today, and I _kinda_ need this money.” 

“You could figure out another way to sell to a pretty girl who _obviously_ had interest in you.” 

“It’s not **my** fault she had interest in me!” 

“You _encouraged_ it!” 

“So I could make a sale! C’mon, Kath, give me a break. I didn’t commit a **crime** here.” 

“No, you have enough _experience_  to know when you’re doing that.” 

They both pause after that, banter coming to an abrupt **h a l t**. Jack stiffens with offense, and Katherine regrets her words almost immediately. She knows she’s crossed a line she shouldn’t have– every action that had landed him in the refuge had been a noble and selfless one on his part. He _wasn’t_ a criminal, and she shouldn’t be treating him like one now. But the betrayal mixed into his expression, in the way it manifests in how he’s holding himself, and the guarded look in his eyes, lets her know it was too late to take it back. Jack isn't one to be stopped speechless, especially not in the heat of an argument, so the fact that his lips are pressed together is a red flag alone. She’s _seen_ that expression before, and it makes her stomach churn just as it had the first time.

“Jack, _I–_ ” 

“Save it,” he sneered, adjusting his cap, turning away from her, “I’m gonna find another corner to sell on. If you wanna spy on me there too, be my guest.”  Katherine opens her mouth to protest– she _wasn’t_ spying on him –but he starts storming off in the opposite direction and she doesn’t want him to see the hot tears that had begun to prick at her eyes.

She would _not_ cry over Jack Kelly.


	2. The Perfect Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to pick a name for their baby, and Jack's making it a difficult task. Luckily, Katherine came prepared. ( Post-Canon/Future )

“Jack Kelly we are _not_ naming our firstborn child ‘Santa Fe’.” 

“It was a _joke_.” 

Shaking her head wearily, Katherine turned her attention back to the notepad in her lap. She was trying to come up with a solid list of baby names, and had insisted her semi-reluctant husband help come up with ideas. So far he hadn’t been very helpful.

“Well _I’m_ being serious,” she told him as a signature look was shot his way. a signature _‘jack kelly i’m not taking your nonsense today’_ look only katherine had mastered. One he recognized off the bat and knew he had to get _**off**_  her face. 

“Okay, okay,” he relented, “I’ll be more _serious_.” 

Katherine nods and takes his surrender, choosing to ignore the deep voice he used to emphasize the last word ( because it was, decidedly, **not** making him sound very serious. In fact, it almost sounds like he's impersonating her _father_ ).

“Good. Now, how does Helen sound?” 

A crinkle of Jack’s nose is enough of an answer for her, and she crosses it off the list.

“You can’t get any good nicknames out of Helen,” he says pointedly, attempting to justify his dislike for the name. Not that Katherine cared all that much. She hadn’t liked it all that much herself. There was one she was saving for when she knew he was paying attention. Anything that came before it that he liked would just be a welcome option. 

“Then how about Winifred? You can get a cute nickname from that one,” she suggested, already knowing what his response would be. 

“Who wants to be named _Winifred_? No one will take you seriously, nickname or not.” 

“Fine.” 

Another name crossed off a rather long list. For about five minutes straight, their exchange continued in that fashion before she got to the end of the girl name list ( they had already gone through the list of boy’s names a week prior ). He hadn’t like many of the names, though he hadn't been too appalled by Elize, her grandmother's name, but she had a feeling the one she’d hung on to without his knowledge could be a hit.

“What about _Mary_?” 

Her suggestion is soft, and an apprehensive air is added to a fair expression, uncertain as to what his reaction would be. Jack freezes for a moment, eyebrows knotting together. She can practically see the gears turning in his head, brushing cobwebs off memories he’d tucked away a long time ago.

“Mary,” he repeats, voice barely audible, and Katherine is afraid she’s missed his answer for a moment. But then she catches the foreign shine in his eyes and the way his mouth twitches and she realizes she hadn’t missed a thing, “my _mother's_  name.”

Slipping down from her perch on the sofa to sit on the floor beside him, depositing the notepad on its arm, she takes his hand. Katherine doesn’t expect the squeeze he gives their intertwined fingers.

“Yes. Is that…okay?” 

“I like it,” he whispers with what she can distinguish as a teary smile, and she leans into him, placing her head on his shoulder.  

“ _Much_ better than Winifred.”

A snort escapes Katherine, and sends them both into airy laughter. She doesn’t need to pick that list up again; there was a **clear**  winner. Just as she’d known from the start.


	3. Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's never been good at goodbyes. ( Post-Canon )

Katherine Ethel Pulitzer slipped away in the middle of the night while Jack Kelly was still holding her hand.

She’d been sick for almost a month prior, bedridden the entire time. Her condition worsened every day, even with the best doctors money could provide working day and night trying to magically cure her. The cold weather that creeped into even the sturdiest homes didn’t do much to  **_ help _ ** her health, either. Her parents had been fussing over her since she was confined to her bed, her father taking all the time he needed off from work.

Jack  _ knew _ he should’ve been out selling papers instead of sitting by her side, as she was sleeping more often than she was awake and lucid. But he couldn’t find it in him to leave her. It felt too eerily _ familiar– _ like a frightening case of  **_ deja-vu _ ** . He’d lost his mother this way, he  **_ couldn’t _ ** lose Katherine too.

And yet he  had .

His dedication and silent prayers had gone to waste. He decided if there were anyone watching him from above, they’ve _cursed_ **** him. Decided that he didn’t  **_ get _ ** a happy ending. He didn’t  **_ get _ ** to keep those he loved most. He didn’t  **_ get _ ** to keep the best thing that had happened to him.

And with her went his belief and his warmth.

The sky wept with him the day of her funeral _ – _ the  ** grandest **  affair he thinks he’s been to in his life. There’s a sea of people swarming around him, and he can’t recognize a single face. He’s not sure Katherine would have recognized very many of them, either. Feeling like a fish out of water, he distances himself. Draws inward and  ** grips **  the bouquet of lilies in his hands like it was his last lifeline. Everyone gives him looks of  pity  and tells him that ‘she’s in a  _ better _ place now’. That she’s not  _ suffering _ anymore. That he should be  ** proud **  of all she had accomplished in such a  **_ short _ ** life.

But he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want the pitying looks, or the money her family was trying to give him for his time spent beside her, or reassurances. He wanted  **_ her _ ** .

He wanted  **_ Katherine _ ** . Bright, spunky, beautiful Katherine. _H_ _ is _  Katherine. Not the delicate, well-mannered porcelain doll everyone kept saying she was. Not that he had the heart to  ** correct **  anyone. Her funeral wasn’t the place to make a scene.

Stone-faced and biting down  **_ hard _ ** on his trembling lip ( to the point where he was  _ certain _ it was about to bleed ), Jack places the flowers in front of her grave. The crowd has been ushered away to the reception, and the rain hadn’t let up. But he hadn’t bothered dressing up, so there was no  suit  for the rain to ruin. He stays hunched over the flowers ( and the mountain of other bouquets left piled up around his small bunch of  pink lilies  ) for another moment, allowing grief to  _ strike  _ him in the heart like a bolt of lightning had been fired into it.

A choked cry bubbles past his lips, and sobs wrack his body. In that moment, Jack Kelly had never felt more viciously  _** alone ** _ .

“What’m I supposed to _do_ without you, Kath?” his voice cracks and for once he couldn’t care less. She’d taken his future with her, and he wanted nothing more than to **_run_** as far as his legs could take him from this _city–_ from this **_life_** , “they keep tellin’ me that _–_ that you’re _okay_ now. That you’re **_happy_** now. But you seemed pretty **_damn_** happy here. With  me.”  


He swallows the lump of emotion forming in his throat and pushes on, eyes screwed shut tight.

“I hope mom’s good company. Bet you’d get along well. ‘m sorry I never got to tell you  _ more _ about her. You  deserved  to know. You deserved a  _ lot _ of things I didn’t give you.”   


A long pause hangs in the air as Jack scrubs at his face with his hands. He’s failing to come up with the right words. With the right  ** goodbye ** . He’s never been  good at them. Pushing himself to stand, expression of raw vulnerability etched into a hollow face, he can feel her grave stare back at him.

“ _T_ _ hank you _ , Katherine Pulitzer, for being the one to believe in me. I’ll love you for as long as I live.”


	4. Sketches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack just wants to draw his pretty girlfriend. ( Post-Canon )

“Jack, you’re supposed to be working on your illustration for the _paper–_ ” 

He shushes her, eyes focused intensely on the paper in front of him, which causes her to huff in indignation. Hands on her hips, she deliberately moves to disrupt the subject she’d provided for him. A yip of objection leaves the teenager as he finally looks up at her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“ _–Hey!_ Kath, I was almost _**done**_.” 

His childish whine only elicits a roll of her eyes. She didn’t have time for this, and neither did he. That illustration was due tomorrow morning at 8:00 sharp, and she would bet money that he hadn’t even _started_ yet.

“You have work to do. You can draw me at **_any_**  other time.” 

As he opens his mouth to protest, it’s her turn to shush him, placing a well-manicured finger on his lips.

“Now isn’t the time to try and argue. Your deadline is coming up fast and you have nothing for The World yet. _Get. To. Work_.” 

“Only if I get a _kiss_ ,” he replies without missing a beat as she removes her finger from his lips.

Cheeks immediately turning crimson, Katherine bites her tongue as she quickly tries to decide whether or not she wanted to just kiss him and get it over with or _smack_ him. 

“Jack–” 

“–I’m _waitin_ ’.” 

“You’re _**impossible**_ ,” she sighs, deftly moving to press a kiss to his cheek before proceeding to grab his unfinished sketch and leave him to it without another word, triumphant smile on her lips.

She ignored her displeased boyfriend’s protests as she started down the rooftop ladder.


	5. Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Kelly makes bad decisions and it costs him. ( Post-Canon )

Jack  _ loved _ the sky. He loved the clouds and spectrum of color that lit up the blank canvas way above him. He loved standing on his rooftop, eyes closed and arms spread feeling like he was ready to  **_ fly _ ** . Fly far away from the city and the memories that had  ** trapped **  him there for so long.

He just didn’t expect it to be the last thing he saw.

Working in skyscraper construction was  ** ideal **  for him once he outgrew selling and was only working half-time illustrating for _T_ _ he World _ . It paid relatively well, and it was hands-on. He had a  _ blast _ balancing on beams and welding things together and getting a birds-eye view of the cityscape while doing it. Katherine and Davey had been more than concerned about his decision, but Jack had refused to let himself be talked out of it.

It wasn’t until he  ** slipped **  that he regretted it.

It wasn’t until he found himself watching his own funeral that he wishes he’d been more  _ careful _ . That he was still there and could wipe all the pain **** from the faces of the people standing around a grave with his name etched into it.

To be fair, it’s a much  **_ nicer _ ** funeral than he’d ever thought he’d have. Really, he hadn’t expected to have one at  _ all _ . But between the Pulitzers, Jacobs, and Medda he’d wound up with quite **** the ceremony. He’d have owed them if he were around _to_ owe them. It really was a sight, and despite the gloomy air surrounding the event, Jack was glad he could witness it.

Scanning the crowd he found he recognized every single face there. He’d known them all for  _ years _ . But he found himself looking past them all to focus on **one**  inconsolable young woman. A young woman he’d promised to be there for and to love as long as he lived. He’d only been able to keep  _ one _  of those promises.

Katherine is held close to her mother, weeping silently as she stared desolately at his grave, flowers clutched tightly in trembling hands. _T_ _ ulips– _ he’d given her those before. Grief peeled off her in  **_ waves _ ** , and it would have shattered his heart had he still had a beating one to break. She’d  _ loved _ him. She’d loved him  _ so much– _ and he would’ve given her the  ** universe **  if he’d had the power.

He reaches out with hands only he can see and holds her face, bottom lip trembling. 

“I’m  _ sorry– _ ” he whispers, brushing a translucent thumb across her cheekbone, wishing her could wipe away the tears that had formed a streak down normally rosy skin, “ _ – _ I ’m  _ so sorry _ , Kath. I didn’t  **_ mean _ ** to, I should’a been more  ** CAREFUL ** .”   


Should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken the  _ damn _ job in the first place, should’ve thought of  **_ her _ ** .

“Guess I shoulda seen it comin’, though,  _ huh _ ? Called it from the  start _ –  _ guys like me don’t end up with girls like you, remember?”   


A gentle kiss is pressed to her forehead, and he  _ swears _ he can feel her  ** tense **  under phantom fingertips before he departs.


	6. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack returns home after being away from his wife for far too long. ( WWI )

It’s been almost a year. Almost a  _ full _ year since he’s been  ** home ** , feet planted solidly on the soil of his homeland. He’s not really  **_ supposed _ ** to be home, it hadn’t been part of his plan. But then again, losing his best friend hadn’t been part of that plan either. Or getting shot.

He’s gained more muscle than he had when he’d been shipped out, and he hadn’t had a chance to shave in weeks ( no one would let him  _ near _ one while recovering or even afterwards ). The most he’d gotten was a bath before they sent him home, mainly to keep his healing wound clean. He’s hardly the same man who had left from this same train station, with his hollowed cheeks and haunted eyes. But he still  **_ felt _ **  like himself. He still felt like Jack Kelly. Just… _ heavier _ . A little emptier. Because who was Jack Kelly  ** without **  Davey Jacobs? Who was he without his brother? 

It’d take time to figure that out.

But it’s not until he sees Katherine standing a little ways down the platform that he really  **_ feels _ ** like himself. Feels like he’s really _home_. His bag weighs little on his arm as he slowly makes his way to her, careful not to stress the bullet wound on his abdomen as he moved. He didn’t want questions raised _ – not yet _ . He wanted to keep this from her for as long as he could. He still hadn’t told her  **_ why _ ** he was coming home early. Didn’t see the need to  worry  her, so the longer he kept it from her, the better. She’d had her hands full with the recent addition to their family.

Allowing his bag to hit the floor with a  ** thud **  at his feet, Jack stops beside her, expectantly. It’d taken every ounce of self control he had not to just  **_ run _ ** at her and twirl her around. Being unable to see his wife for such a  _ long time–  _ all he had was a photograph and the sketches he kept as close to him as the letters she sent him, he wanted to memorize every new feature Katherine had gained in his absence. Surely after giving birth to their child ( a  ** healthy **  baby girl, so he’d been told )  _ something _ had changed.

Discomfort crossed her delicate features for a moment as she glances at his dirty bag, fully prepared to politely ask this strange man **** to leave her be _ – _ she was  **_ waiting _ ** for someone. If she was distracted, she could  miss  her returning husband. Lose him in the crowd. It had been too long to miss him now. Clearing her throat, she keeps her eyes forward, as though hinting that he ought to  **_ go _ ** .

Cracking a ( slightly baffled ) grin, Jack raised his eyebrows at her reaction. This wasn't exactly the welcome home he’d been expecting.

So he turns to face the same direction _ – _ towards the open train doors  _ – _ and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He’ll play along.

“ _Y'_ _ know, _ ” he says gruffly, “usually a soldier gets a nice  ** kiss **  from his wife when he gets home.”   


Out of the corner of his eye he can see Katherine  stiffen , and very   **_ s l o w l y  _ **  turn to glance at him. While she studies his face for a moment, eyebrows knit together in puzzled concentration, he continues.

“Thought i’d at least get one from a **** _ pretty girl _ **** at the train station.”   


Jack doesn’t have time to say anything more before a shuddering gasp leaves his wife’s lips and she’s flinging her arms around him. A fresh wave of pain emits from his wound, but he ignores it in favor of wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her  **_ tight _ ** . A sob wracks her body as she clings to his uniform, and Jack allows himself to laugh.

“I’m  _ here _ , Kath, I’m  **_ home _ ** . Just like I promised.”   


And he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

But he  **_ did _ ** want that kiss.


	7. Amusement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to cheer Katherine up after a rough day at work. ( Post- Canon )

Jack has always had a decent sense of  **_ empathy _ ** _ –  _ he can  tell  when someone’s bothered by something or has had it rough that day. He can tell when one of the boys hasn’t slept well or had a bad selling streak, and so on. So when Katherine shows up looking disgruntled to their date at Jacobi’s, he can tell work hadn’t been  _ fun _ for her that day.

Even after her  ** breakthrough **  stories about the strike, there were  _ plenty _ of men in her line of business that didn’t treat her like she was at  _ their _ level yet. Jack had learned his lesson during the strike not to doubt her abilities because she’s a  girl , but unfortunately few others had been in class for that lesson.

Sitting across a ‘table for two’ from him, arms folded tightly across her chest as she muses over her poor day, eyebrows pinched together above stormy eyes, Katherine looks ready to  ** burst **  with words. Some of which Jack could guess  **_ weren’t _ ** particularly ‘ladylike’. He decided something had to be done about it _ – _ it was his  duty  as her boyfriend to at least  _ attempt _ to cheer her up a bit.

Checking to make sure she was still occupied by her thoughts, Jack  _ slowly _ dragged her napkin across the table to himself. He hunched himself over it to hide it from her view as a chunk of charcoal was plucked from his pocket and dispensed onto the paper in the form of a quick sketch. He scribbles furiously for a handful of minutes, eventually drawing Katherine’s  curiosity  out, and her attention with it.

“Jack Kelly, what on _E_ _arth _ _ – _ ”   


He cuts her off as he holds the napkin up to her nose, smirk perched on his lips. She blinks in  surprise , leaning back a bit to allow her eyes to focus on his hurried drawing. Once the picture registers, Jack succeeds in placing a  smile  her lips, signs of any anger melting away to be replaced by affection.

On the napkin was an ( admittedly rough ) sketch of Katherine, a  ** triumphant **  grin on her lips as she formulates a series of sentences she’s  **_ sure _ ** will blow her editor away. _T_ _his _ was the Katherine he knew and admired. _T_ _his _ was the expression he loved to see on her face the most, this one full of inspiration and determination that made him believe she had  _** more ** _  than what half the old men at the sun had.

“ **_ This _ **  is who you are, Kath. Don’t let them get to you. You’ve never let  **_ me _ ** get to you.”   


Katherine smirks, and leans across the table to look past the napkin and at him. Noting that her usual glint of moxie had returned to her eyes, Jack knows his plan had  _ worked _ .

“I’d beg to  disagree , Mister Kelly.”


	8. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets sick and doesn't tell anyone.

It was  _ extremely _ rare for Jack to fall ill. It was even  **_ more _ **  rare for him to  ** do **  anything about it. There was far too much to do, far too many people that needed his help, and far too much work to be done to take a day off for resting. So naturally, when Jack slowly began to feel feverish, he elected to  ignore  it.

He was certain Katherine would have his head should she find out anything were  _ wrong,  _ after all the incessant  fussing  he did whenever she fell ill and being adamant about knowing how she’s feeling every day. So letting her know he was feeling under the weather wasn’t really an  **_ option _ ** in Jack’s head. A lecture wasn’t ideal for his jam-packed schedule these days, so he’d save some time by putting up a strong front. Luckily that was something he’d come to  excel  at over the years.

But as weeks roll along and his condition only  worsens , he finds it to be harder and harder to put up that front. For the first time in a long time, Jack’s unable to sell  _ all _ his papers, and he’s  sure  Davey has noticed after a few days. It’s  **_ funny _ ** , really, he’d assumed the sicker you looked the  _ better _ you’d sell. But it appeared that the sicker you looked, the less willing people were to come close enough to you to pluck a paper from your outreached hand. Dark circles have formed under slightly shot eyes, and work he’s normally been able to do like it’s nothing  **_ yanks _ ** all the energy straight out of his body. He feels like a sandcastle about to crumble, but stubbornly  **_ refuses _ ** to breathe a word to anyone.

Katherine  inevitably  presses for answers as to why they’ve gone on so few  dates recently and why everyone has seen so little of him, to which he responds with--

"’m busy with the  drawings  your father wants; politics got  **_ busy _ ** these last couple’a weeks."

His slightly slurred speech was enough to give himself away, if her superior knowledge of  politics  hadn’t clued her into a  **_ lie _ ** .

While she’s staring skeptically at him, a thought  _ pulls _ at the back of his head _ – _ his mother. before becoming completely  immobile  by illness, she’d made excuses to save face in front of his father. In front of  **_ him _ ** . But he’d seen them all up close when forced to take care of her as that illness slowly, painstakingly claimed her. Suddenly Jack was seized with  ** fear ** , connecting dots of symptoms and phrases, and takes a jerky step  _ away _ from Katherine. His mouth moves slightly, but no words spill from chapped lips. 

Alarmed concern replaces skepticism as Katherine tries to  refill  the distance he’s put between them, reaching for his arm. Something to  **_ steady _ ** him with, because she’s never seen him this  _ perilously _ pale before, and quite frankly she’s not a  ** fan ** .

“ _ –Jack? _  Jack,  look  at me.  _ what’s wrong? _ ”   


Her voice, however gentle, causes him to shrug her hand off and shake his head feverishly ( a poor choice as now he’s horrifically  ** dizzy **  ) as he stumbles back again. There’s  _ no way _ he’s letting her catch this. He’s seen what it does,  **_ felt _ ** what it does. With her being so vulnerable to illness due to all her past ailments, there’s no way in  **_ hell _ ** he’s going to be the reason she comes down with this damned  fever . I t can’t take  _ her _ too.

Jack can see her lips continue to move, but suddenly he’s  ** underwater ** ; senses distorted, he can only stare blankly at her as he fights valiantly to just  _ keep looking at her _ . To  **_ keep _ ** that contact and stay upright as his head reels.

He hits the pavement around the same time Katherine moves to take his hand.


	9. Anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's got a big task on his hands.

Instead of picking up just a few extra papers a day, Jack begins to pick up a  **_ lot _ ** more papers a week in advance to his and Katherine’s ‘six-month anniversary’. He’d stuff at least a  ** dozen **  more papers into his paint-stained canvas bag, determined to sell every last one. He  _ needed _ the extra money. Because he’d been running low on cash and paying for dates ( when they decided to do something that costed money every once and a while ) had become an  embarrassing struggle. He didn’t  **_ dare _ ** allow Katherine to pay for a  _ thing– _ that was  **_ his _ ** job, not hers. His pride wouldn’t allow it, if nothing else.

And he couldn’t be short on money for what he’d been told was somewhat of a  _ ‘borderline milestone anniversary’ _ . Apparently girls  expected  stuff for those, according to his pals, and he didn’t want to let  _ his _ girl down. He was prepared to work  **_ hard _ ** to ensure that wouldn’t happen.

Ultimately, he managed to scrape enough together to purchase not only a bouquet of flowers, but a bit of decent paper to draw on ( which was a  _ very _ nice change for him ). The rest of his plan was acted out with help from Davey, Crutchie, Les, and Race, all of who  ** refused **  payment afterwards, which Jack admired and was candidly  _ thankful _ for. There hadn’t been much to give at that point, anyways. But there was no denying he had the best friends to call family.

Their job was to indirectly direct Katherine to the rooftop, where Jack would be waiting with his prepared surprise. If he knew her at all, he knew there was a good chance she’d catch on fairly quickly that something was up. But if he planned this  _ right _ , he’d still manage to catch her by surprise, no matter how suspicious the other boys might act.

The look of breathless awe of her face as she pulled herself and her skirting up to the rooftop was enough for him to mentally confirm that he’d done just that. Small candles lit up the roof, wax oozing along the railings as they all flickered in the oncoming night. Jack stood waiting for her, gifts held behind his back as he greeted her with a wide ( albeit  nervous  ) grin.

“And here I was thinking you’d  **_ forgotten _ ** ,” Katherine mused, a teasing smile on rose colored lips as she strolls towards him, hands clasped behind her back.   


“ _W_ _ ell _ , Medda wouldn’t allow the candles in the theatre, ‘cause she was afraid I’d burn the place down, so I had to  **_ improvise _ ** .”   


A light laugh rises from her, which causes his lopsided grin to spread even  further  across his face. Pulling his arms from behind his back, Jack presents his  _ gifts– _ a bouquet of red roses and a detailed portrait of her. A hushed gasp tumbles from her mouth as delicate fingers ghost across the paper, free hand wrapping around the flowers. She hadn’t been sure  **_ what _ ** to expect from him today _ – if  _ he’d even known what  ** day **  it was at all. And she’d never been one for such things, preferring to save them for  **_ real _ ** anniversaries, but issuing a complaint was the  ** last **  thing on her mind now.

“It’s  _ beautiful _ , Jack,” she whispers, and as she’s busy admiring his work, he’s busy admiring  **_ her _ ** . 

Insisting she stay for at least a little **** longer, curfew not being taken into account by either of them, they watch the sun finish setting and find the  ** stars **  as they emerge from the newly inked sky. Jack points out constellations that have rusted in his mind, and she gently corrects him and shows him what those constellations are and shares their stories with him. They piece together their own constellations and formulate stories for them until he’s realized she’s fallen asleep; carrying her home ( careful not to disturb her ) isn’t an  ** easy **  task, and explaining why she was out past curfew to her  **_ father _ ** is even harder, but Jack has decided this day ranks pretty high on his list of far and few between good days **. **


	10. Denial pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Multiple people asked for a second part to Chapter 8, so I continued it a bit! It got a little longer than the rest I've written.

The _throbbing_ emitting from the back of his skull is felt before the awareness of consciousness seeps into his thoughts. Rugged features disfigure themselves into the form of a cringe as a fevered groan slides past severely chapped lips.

 

Groggy flashes of memory litter his brain, but few manage to piece together behind his shut eyes.

 

The Delanceys had been keen on giving him a hard time the moment they had noticed his walk lacked its usual swagger and his chin wavered in its hold on confidence. After a week, Jack hadn’t the energy to give them a good fight and he was certain the boys had noticed ( and had loyally begun to supply the smart remarks and teasing _for_ him, for his pride’s sake ). All he needed to do was supply the best lopsided smile he could muster and get his papers, and he was in good shape. Selling them was a more difficult process ( one that chipped away at his dignity and reputation, but thankfully he no longer had to worry about eating his own losses financially ). Standing around in the bitter cold wasn’t helping him stay on unsteady feet or soothe the nasty cough that had taken hold of his lungs and throat, but he’d rather drop dead than take the day off from selling because he was feeling a **little** under the weather.

 

He can recall Crutchie visiting him on the roof, hugging himself tight, body curled inward to protect its core from the frigid winds that drifted between lines of clothing and and skyscrapers, concern spelled out plainly on his round face. There’s an attempt to coax Jack inside, a valiant one at that, with claims that there was enough room on his bunk for them to share. That there weren’t any boys lined up at the lodging house door, so Jack wouldn’t be robbing another boy of a place to stay the night. But even when he was trembling where he stood, nose a raw as he leans against a steel railing coated in intricate patterns of frost, Jack had always been stubborn in nature, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow Crutchie of all people to catch whatever it was he had. There was no telling how bad it could get for the smaller boy, who was known to have a poor immune system.

 

The same went for Katherine. Once he had learned how easily she caught sick, immune system having been worn down from all the illnesses that had plagued her during childhood, he’d been cautiously avoiding her. He’d sat dutifully at her side the last time she fell ill, her small hand clutched between his own ink stained fingers as a sickening feeling of deja-vu churned in his stomach. Having witnessed first hand what this fever could do, forced to watch from a front row seat as it claimed both his mother and father, Jack wasn’t taking any chances. He’d been the one to nurse them when rendered bedridden, and the one forced to watch them both deteriorate until there was nothing left and he was inevitably left alone. The people he cared most about had _families_ , and he wouldn’t be the cause of their shattering. So distance had to be kept.

 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t of the right mind to find new places to hide, so he wasn’t difficult to find.If he wasn’t at his usual selling spot on the corner by The World, he was down the street at Medda’s theatre painting backdrops or tightly curled up in a vacant balcony seat sketching, and if not there, the rooftop. If he was pressed for a place, he’d climb through the Jacobs’ fire escape window and invite himself in. He’d become such a frequent visitor after the strike that the family had basically adopted him as one of their own, so none were fazed by his sudden appearance on their threadbare sofa at any time of the day. But as what he had assumed to be a simple cold developed into a fever due to his negligence of personal care, staying with the Jacobs was no longer an option if there was a chance he could contaminate _them_ as well.

 

Yet Katherine, though he really shouldn’t be surprised, had managed to track him down and demand answered for their lack of dates. Knowing when and where he’d be selling, as hehad become particularly predictable as of late in regards to where he sold, she’d marched up to him and confronted him. Unfortunately for Jack and his plans of maintaining distance and a brave face, he’d managed to connect the dots about his parent’s illnesses and his own and passed out on the cold pavement in a matter of minutes.

 

_“ –Jack?  Jack, look  at me. what’s wrong?”_

 

Gentle words hadn’t been enough to keep him on his feet, but they now swam around his brain as he tried to piece together exactly what had happened since he’d dropped and now. Most of which he could scarcely recall, having been swinging in and out of bleary lucidity the last couple days.

 

Fortunately for his wellbeing, a horrified Katherine had the right kind of contacts to get him back to the lodging house and a doctor’s eye. When he was deemed **contagious** , the lodging house woefully explained they couldn’t keep him in fear of an outbreak, and Katherine boldly declared he stay with the Pulitzers. Her father was less than thrilled with the idea, but her mother had hurriedly agreed— _she_ hadn’t forgotten all the time time this young man had spent at her daughter’s side when she’d fallen ill several months earlier, and was quick to remind her husband of this. So despite some push, Pulitzer begrudgingly gave in and Jack was allowed to stay until he was well enough to return to the lodging house. They tucked him into one of their many guest rooms, away from where most activity happened in the estate, but not far enough from a doctor’s care. Katherine had insisted her personal doctor be the one to aid Jack, as they were one of the few she truly trusted was undeniably good at their job ( seeing as she was still alive to say so ).

 

Unable to remember any of this information, Jack was in for a shock when his eyes fluttered open when the feeling of a damp washcloth dabbed at the hot skin of his forehead, and he followed the hands holding it to Katherine, who was perched in a cushioned chair at his bedside. She recoiled with a start the moment she noticed him stir, hands and washcloth held close to her chest, ignoring the couple of water droplets that fell unceremoniously onto her skirt.

 

“You’re _awake!_ ”

 

Eyes darting wildly around him, from her expression of elation to the decor of the room that was far too fine to be anywhere but the Pulitzer home, Jack wracked his brain for any logical story as to how he wound up in this bed.

 

Things swam in his vision still, light swinging in and out of his line of sight, unable to fully focus on anything, but he could hear her voice well enough to judge that he’d been out long enough to cause some concern. That aside, his thoughts immediately shift from garbled confusion to a crystalline clear _‘i’m sick and she shouldn’t be here’_. Didn’t matter where he was, she was beside him, he was sick enough to be laid up in a bed, and she could catch what he had. In an outwardly unbalanced fashion, Jack forced himself to sit up, propped by his elbows, and grimaced as his head spun for a moment. Once the spurt of dizziness passed, not unnoticed by Katherine, he gave her a hard frown.

 

“You’re gonna get sick.”

 

His voice cracks as the cobwebs formed from lack of use are brushed away from his throat. Disbelief floods Katherine’s expression as delicate fingers tighten slightly around the washcloth.

 

“I’ve only been here _two minutes_ , I’m fine. I swear, you are the most _im_ possible—“

 

“I’m serious,y’gotta go.”

 

Genuine distress replaces the rigidity in his fever-flushed face, and Katherine, after a brief hesitance, places firm hands on his chest and guides him back down to rest against his pillows.

 

“And _you_ have to relax. I’m not gonna catch whatever this is in the span of a few minutes, Jack.”

 

 _Whatever this is_. The words float through his head, occupying it like fog settled on a dark road. He **knew** what this was— he might know the name, but he knows what it can do. It’s robbed him of people, of a family. Just being laid out like this forced his memory back to days spent sitting beside his mother, her thinning golden hair splayed out across the pillows, hollowed cheeks and weak movements. He wonders for a moment if he had the same vacancy to his eyes now.

 

“I have stuff to do. Gotta sell.”

 

“You can barely talk,” she replies curtly, but feels no bodily resistance under her fingertips ( which passively lay on his chest, cushioned by his thin tank top ) “There’s no way you can sell a single paper in this condition.”

 

Her attention shifts acutely as she listens to voices just outside the guest room door. Her father and doctor have been out there discussing Jack’s discussion for almost ten minutes now, and she’s trying not to let her blatant concern for their exchanged words seep into her expression. Jack clearly wasn’t lucid enough to pick up on it, and she wasn’t about to draw attention to it, either. She just prays that the length of their conversation doesn’t match the depth of Jack’s worsened condition. They’d been through too much for her to lose him now, to _this_. As silence hangs comfortably in the air, fondness reaches her eyes as she watches him close his eyes and relax into the plush pillows behind his head. According to the boys, he hasn’t slept in a bed in about two weeks. The amount of selflessness condensed into a single human being never seizes to astound her. If only it didn’t have to cost him so dearly.

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Words so subdued as they leave her lips, she’s afraid he can’t hear them. And perhaps it’s best he couldn’t, seeing as he really shouldn’t be talking at all and stressing his aching throat. But his eyes open again and the moment their gazes meet Katherine feels goosebumps rise on her skin and prick at the nape of her neck. Even Jack Kelly couldn’t wear exhaustion well, and poor as he was, she was certain he’d never looked this fragile before in his life.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Repeating her question, voice wavering, she reaches out a hand to brush a bit of his untamed hair from where it stuck to his forehead. He shifts to avert his eyes, brow furrowing. They both knew why he was avoiding her, and they both know that no matter what he’d told her, she would’ve insisted on not keep her distance. But that didn’t explain why he was so stubbornly refusing to address that anything had been wrong, or why he’d let it go this far.

 

An internal argument happens behind his guarded expression, one Katherine wishes she could get past. But Jack has always been, as Medda so fondly calls him, a ‘man of mystery’. He has secrets he picks and chooses to share and keep buried so deep even he forgot they were there. Staring expectantly, she awaits an answer that she knows may or may not come. She wasn’t going to force answers out of him while he was in this condition.

 

But Jack decides that if anyone deserves answers, it was Katherine. She’s taken him in, it appeared, and that was enough grounds for an _‘i owe you one’_. It takes a moment longer than usual for him to sort out his thoughts and find words, the fever muddying his train of thought.

 

“Knew you wouldn’t listen,” he croaks, hint of a dry smile on his lips, and it’s enough to get a huff of a laugh out of her, “Didn’t think it mattered much, anyways. Didn’t think it was yellow fever.”

 

The way she stiffens makes him wish he could take the last bit back, but the anguish that manifest in her expression makes him wish he hadn’t said anything at all. Denial creases between her eyebrows as she tilts her chin up, and Jack’s eyes follow the fierce bounce in her deflating curls as she shakes her head.

 

“You don’t know it’s— _that_. The doctor’ll be back in a moment, he’ll—“

 

“Tell you the same thing,” Jack interrupts, and if the discussion alone hadn’t upset her enough, the softness of his voice would’ve. He was only this kind of gentle when he saw someone needed him to be. She didn’t need him to be. She was _fine_ , because he _**didn’t**_ have yellow fever. It was just a bad cold. A fever that just needed some tending to, at the worst. Bottom lip trembling, Katherine inhaled shakily, fighting to maintain composure. She would _not_ cry in front of him. She would not. The way he extends fingertips out to her, barely hovering above the sheets confining him to the bed in a sign of unspoken weakness, she sees he’s accepted facts. As she laces her own fingers through his offered ones and gives them a squeeze, she’s at a loss. Many had bounced back from the fever that had swept through state after state for years, many had recovered once removed from previous conditions. Maybe all he needed was to stay here, with her and the doctors her father could supply.

 

“You’ll be okay,” she affirms, despite the odds looming heavily over their heads. Jack was known for defying the odds, this was no different.

 

The guest room door opens with a metallic click, and she knows it’s time to go without her father having to utter a word. Jack’s already starting to let the fever lull him back to sleep, so with a final squeeze to their intertwined fingers, Katherine gets up from her seat and allows Pulitzer to usher her out to give her the full report.

 


	11. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine comes across a tricky subject. ( Post-Canon )

If there was something he hadn’t planned on telling Katherine, it was about his time spent in the refuge. She’d already seen his drawings, atoms carefully transferred from clumps of charcoal to scraps of faded paper in the form of immortalized memories. It had been unexpected and at the time had felt like a horrible invasion of privacy ( the sting of betrayal hadn’t mixed well with the sight of her digging through what was the physical form of some of his worst memories ), but had been enough to call for the refuge’s close.

Maybe he should have expected the subject to come up again at some point, as it hadn’t earnestly been discussed up on the rooftop that night. It was too loaded a topic, too charged to be casually brought up. There was a certain amount of trust required for him to open about anything that happened to him in his years spent being tossed back and forth through the gates of the refuge. However, it took time to build up that kind of unshakable trust, and thankfully Katherine seemed to understand that and didn’t push. Jack Kelly was an enigma; every time she thought she could read him and had learned all his secrets, there was always another box of his past tucked away in the back of his heart. Slowly, as he began to open up more and more of his heart to her, she uncovered small boxes of thoughts he’d kept buried for years, out of sight and out of mind. But there were some he kept under a dusty lock and key, like those containing stories of a radiant mother whose light went out far too early and  warm father who hardened with loss, or tales of a scared boy behind bars with the scars to speak when words failed.

The first time she spotted one of these scars, for they differed from the smaller ones that littered sun tanned skin that were remains from the hundreds of fights he’d charged into and initiated, it was jarring and ran from his kneecap to his ankle. She spots it when he rolls up the cuff of his pants a little higher than they naturally fall in a valiant attempt to re-tie his shoe. As he was busy trying to salvage a knot with shoelaces that had been frayed nearly out of existence, Katherine’s lifted fingertips to her lips to keep a small gasp ( whether it’s out of surprise, as she’d never seen any _real_ evidence of that degree of harm on him before, or simply curiosity even she’s not sure ). Once he’s satisfied with the lopsided bow he’s managed to tie his laces into and straights himself out, the fabric is dropped again and covers any trace of injury. Letting the look on Katherine’s face go unnoticed, Jack continues to walk again, having interrupted their stroll to attend to his shoe. Realizing that his girlfriend had neglected to follow him, he pauses again and turns back, puzzled expression written ardently upon his features. 

“What? Did I forget somethin’, or--”

She doesn’t give him a chance to finish vocalizing his bewilderment, stepping forward to point a finger at his clothed ankle, rose lips puckers into a pout.

“What is _that_?”  


Jack blinks, brow furrowing with further confusion as he follows her finger to his shoe.

“It’s a knot.”  


“ _Jack--_ ”  


“I **_told_** you, I was stoppin’ to tie my shoe! What d’you mean ‘what is _that_ ’? What is _what_?”  


His exasperation is enough to get her fingertips massaging her temple, breathing a sigh through her nose as she finds a new batch of words.

“Your leg,” she begins to clarify, voice gentle in hopes that should she be treading on thin ice that it wouldn’t shatter under her feet and drop her into a situation involving an unsettlingly tight-lipped boyfriend, “there was a scar. Is it from a fight?”  


The sudden rigidity in his posture is enough to confirm that this wasn’t just another ‘battle scar’, as he so fondly called them. She’s tempted to repeat herself, as she would in an interview should a silence settle between herself and her interviewee as they got wrapped up in thought, but as Jack shifts to cross his arms across his chest to physically close himself off, she hesitates. This expression isn’t new to her, but it’s one so rarely seen that it causes her to consider backtracking. 

It was enough to have the memories locked away in his head, unforgiving and harsh on his nerves, but to have it all manifest permanently upon his skin was another bag to add to his emotional luggage. A small part of him knows that it would probably be easier to just go ahead and tell her the minimum amount of information about that particular scar, but he also knows that odds are she’d ask more questions the more he gave her to base inquiries upon. And he isn’t sure he could handle diving into that, no matter who asked the questions or how much trust he’d instilled in that person.

“Jack?”  


Gentle as a butterfly, her voice floats to his ears, and from the corner of his eye he can see Katherine take a tentative step closer to him, skirts loose around her heeled boots. Concern is evident in the way she softly calls his name, and as tempted as he is to refuse to answer her and urge her to forget what she’d seen, he relents.

“It ain’t from a fight,” he replies, averting his gaze so that he didn’t have to watch her expression change, and nudges her so they could move against the building besides them to avoid clogging the sidewalk, “it was the refuge.”  


“You got _that_ from the refuge?”  


Disbelief laces her tone as fervently as unease taints his expression.

“I got a _lot_ of stuff from the refuge. Really, they were **_very_** generous in that way,” he muses with a bitterness she has only heard on his tongue once before, and her stomach churns. Knowing full well she’s entered dangerous territory of his past, Katherine continues.  


“So there’s more,” it comes out as a question, but it’s a solid confirmation, “are they all that... _ghastly_?”  


The poignant smile that captures his lips is enough of an answer for her.

“Some are worse.” 

He nods his head, uncharacteristically mute. Her heart aced for him, but knew his pride would only brush any pity she supplied away as though it were a pesky bug. His reputation had formed from his escaping the refuge, painting an image of a strong leader who couldn’t be held down by even the law. Who had beat the system and had shown he was willing to help others do the same. But standing before her she saw him as he was, a kid who’d been through too much for his age and let all that pain age until it couldn’t be spoken about. He had been through unspeakable things and hadn’t had a chance to breathe since, too busy trying to keep himself alive.

She had seen his cocky lopsided smirk melt into a look of indescribable horror at the sight of Snyder that day in her father’s office-- that kind of terror, the kind that makes a person run and fight the way Jack had, it had to be deeply rooted. And between the sketches she’d skimmed through and the sight of what was only the tip of an iceberg of ghosts upon his skin, the refuge was enough to elicit that kind of reaction.

“I’m sorry.”  


Her words leave her lips before she can give them her mental stamp of approval, and she finds herself holding her breath and praying he doesn’t react poorly.

But to her relief, his expression only softens. There’s no trace of annoyance or temper on his face or in the way his smile subtly shifts into something more genuine. This exchange wasn’t much, but it was enough to lift some of the weight that had been so heavy upon his shoulders for so long. Baby steps, he reassures himself, baby steps are what it’ll take. He can’t talk about it, can’t find the right words to describe how agonizing his experiences had been, and doesn’t want to just yet. It doesn’t feel right yet, and as Katherine moves to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze, he can see she understands that much. She knows it’ll take time and is willing to wait.

They continue their walk, hand in hand, and Jack allows her to pick up her rambling about her day went, memories pushed back to their boxes to make room for brighter ones.


End file.
